Brown Blair and me: it’s a beautiful spray...

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The PM is sporting a healthy new tan acquired with suspicious haste. Is it fake? Our reporter visits a salon to see how quickly Blair could have become brown

THERE’S a problem. I’m brown, a ruddy, rusty, reddish brown. Dangerous brown. Brown like a stewardess. But not all of me is. Half of my forehead, the inch or two closest to my hairline, is still my natural colour, the mottled white of feta cheese. I look like a giant armed with tweezers has gripped me around the head and dipped me into a giant pot of coffee. And also, frankly, like a bit of a berk.

This is my fault. I wasn’t meant to end up looking like this. I was meant to look like Tony Blair. He’s got